


The Christmas Angel

by PeachGO3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Historical, Baker Dean Winchester, Bee-Lover Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Has Rainbow Wings (Supernatural), Christmas, Fluff, Lady and the Tramp vibes y’know, Love Confessions, Other, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: 1909 in Midwestern America: Mr. Winchester has a secret – each year the market’s Christmas tree topper turns into a real angel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	The Christmas Angel

Looking carefully around, Dean sneaks onto the marketplace. He knows, technically, that there is nothing wrong with being in a public place at midnight, even if it might be a sign of falling into bad ways. The folks around here were a bit snobbish after all. More importantly, however – it’s Christmas Eve, and Dean has no intention of anyone witnessing his holiday secret.

He tucks his coat tighter around him. It’s the coldest night of the year, and his breath crystalizes in clouds so large he feels like a steam train. The snow scrunching beneath his feet does not help either, but it’s okay, he realizes. No one is around.

He lifts his head and rubs his arms as he takes in the view of the large Christmas tree. Red bows and wooden pendants shine in the lights of the candles, and he softens in the golden glow. There, on top of the ten feet tree, is the angel. A figurine with a white gown and golden wings, watching over the town. Tonight would be special, oh, he could hardly wait –

“Hello?”

Dean whirls around. Garth Fitzgerald’s warmly wrapped head peeks out from behind the tree. “Oh,” he smiles, oblivious to Dean’s shock, “Mister Winchester.”

Dean greets him with a sturdy nod. Someone spying is the last thing he needed.

“Evenin’!”

“Yeah. Good evenin’.”

“Listen,” Fitzgerald says and walks toward Dean, a wooden horse in his gloved hands. “My girl saw this one here on our way home and I-”

“My lips are sealed,” Dean says.

“That’s nice of you, sir,” Fitzgerald says a tad too loudly for someone who is about to steal Christmas tree decoration in the middle of the night. Poor fellow could use it though, with the sixth child underway. Dean knows that.

“Tree’s really pretty this year.”

“It is,” Dean says, arms crossed for more warmth. “It’s every year.”

“Ahh, true, true. The kids are lovin’ the cinnamon raisin bread, by the way. I’m sure I’ll have to visit you again before New Year.”

Dean smiles. “Glad to hear they like it.”

“They sure do! I’ll be on my way, then. Merry Christmas, Mister Winchester!”

“Merry Christmas,” Dean says. He only dares to look at the tree top again when Fitzgerald has disappeared around the Northern corner. The angel is gone.

Heartbeat quickening, Dean steps closer to the tree’s mighty branches and walks around it. And then, on the other side, he can see Castiel, through green needles and warm light.

He is looking at the night sky and doesn’t seem to notice Dean. Arms still on his sides, with the giant coat hanging from his broad shoulders that shield away the stardust inside of him from the human eye. He ages, Dean has noticed some years before. The few gray hairs look good on him.

The most wonderful person he has ever known. He softens.

Breathing in deeply – the air smells of winter green and magic now – Dean steps closer, and the scrunching snow makes Cas turn around. His angular face lights up. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean cannot stop himself from smiling when they stride toward each other. “Hello, my friend. Welcome back,” he says as Cas pulls him into a stormy hug, with both arms wrapped around him tight and warm, to really feel him this time, and not just in a dream.

Cas leans into the touch, his head steady on Dean’s shoulder as his arms relax around him.

No one hugs quite like Cas. But then again, no one _is_ quite like Cas. He does not know what’s acceptable and what is not. Perhaps he has an inkling by now, but if that is the case, he does not seem to care about it that much. His familiar touch makes Dean’s heart flutter inside his chest like a butterfly.

He pulls away to be able to bathe in Cas’ sky-blue eyes. He looks nothing like the tree topper he masquerades as the rest of the year. He doesn’t even look like a real angel, if we were being honest, yet his celestial heritage is undeniable. Three years ago, Dean bought a Kodak just to have his picture taken, and even the photograph oozes with Castiel’s rich magic. It gives Dean strength every morning, when he kisses it.

“How are you?” Cas asks. Oh, Dean has missed his voice. He sighs when Cas rubs his arm with a strong hand, creating a warm cloud between them. “I’m fine, I’m doing fine,” he says with the stupidest grin in the world. “I missed you so much, my friend.”

“And I you,” Cas smiles. Other than Dean’s breath, his glitters as though it was literally crystalizing in the winter air. Another glistening sparkle catches Dean’s eye. It’s the bee brooch he gave Cas last year as a Christmas present; he has attached it to his coat, and it was still there, much to Dean’s joy.

‘Joy’ is too little a word to describe his feelings for Castiel. Ever since he had found Dean on Christmas Eve twelve years ago, they met here every time. And each year, Dean has been falling in love a little bit more with him. With this angel mellowed with age.

But Dean is past shame. Who would _not_ fall in love with an angel, even a disheveled looking one as this?

Castiel’s necktie is always messy, and his face never cleanly shaved. No hat. Dean knows little about fashion, but that coat, too, looks like it belongs into the past century. Not that Dean cares – on the contrary, he loves how timeless Cas felt. It had nothing to do with the gray hair.

It’s just that, with Castiel, it is easy to be himself.

And this year has been all about finding himself. Tonight, Castiel would be the crowning moment of this journey, just like he has been its glorious starting point years ago. Tonight, Dean would finally tell him.

Cas’ gravelly voice gently guides Dean back to the marketplace. “You seem preoccupied,” he notices. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry,” Dean says with a bashful laugh.

“Then shall we get going?”

“Yeah, let’s not waste any time.” Dean’s face splits into the widest grin, and he adds, “You look good, Cas.”

Cas looks down and slightly purses his lips. “You do too,” he says, timidly, and Dean rejoices in the tiny smile on Cas’ face that won’t quite go away for as long as they walk the empty streets.

They always visit the infirmary first. Cas wants to use his healing powers for good every Christmas. Dean always introduces him as a doctor from the East Coast. He’s not even sure if the nurses still buy into it after all these years, but what is important is that the sick were healed.

“How is Miss Bradbury?” Cas asks on their way out. He waves goodbye to a kid who calls after them from the window.

Charlie Bradbury is the one who crafted the bee brooch for Dean after Cas has told him that he wished to spend a spring day on Earth to watch the bees. Dean brings him up to date about her shop and her lover Stevie. He doesn’t tell him that Charlie has made him pay for the brooch in pies, because that would probably lessen the _surprise_ later tonight.

“Then they will be engaged this summer?”

“If Miss Bradbury has the guts to ask her,” Dean jokes. Secretly, he has always admired Charlie for her courage. He himself has dreaded Christmas for several months now, but he plans on taking a page out of her book for tonight.

“I’m sure the wedding will be lovely,” Cas says as they walk to the park, their second destination. It’s so cold tonight that the cupid fountain at the entrance froze solid. The icicles glitter when they pass them by.

The large tree branches are heavy with snow. “I never tire of coming here,” Cas breathes, blue eyes shining with awe. Here, in the silent solitude under the trees and stars, Dean dares to reach for his hand.

Cas blinks at the brushing of their fingers. “You’re cold,” he says with concern, and Dean lets him warm both his hands with angelic magic. The soft light between their joint hands tints Cas’ face beautifully, he finds. Seeing his wrinkles, both from age and from smiling, makes Dean soften.

Tenderly, he intertwines their fingers. Cas looks up in surprise, plump lips parted. “I missed you,” Dean says again, from the bottom of his heart. Feels Cas’ own warmth instead of Heavenly light.

Right now he would not know how to let Cas go. He has never dared to think of him this way before last year, because everyone he ever loved has left him, sooner or later.

Cas wouldn’t. Surely.

Arm in arm, they walk through the quiet park. A pair of owls watches them when Cas rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean leans against him in turn. Time freezes like water. Maybe it’s the blue magic of the night, or Castiel’s enchantment – either way, now seems like forever.

The night is so clear that the stars reflect on the surface of the frozen pond. Cas frees some leaves of the big weeping willow from the ice, where there are no footprints in the snow yet. Dean catches him there, playfully, and they dance a little between the tree’s cascades.

Dancing soon turns into swaying.

With his head leaning against Cas’ head, Dean thinks this is the best Christmas Eve he could have ever imagined. But his mind wanders further. He wants to sit beneath this willow with Cas in spring, when, yes, they could watch the bees, and in summer, when it would give shade and only allow the prettiest sunrays to shine through its leaves. Sunrays that would dance so gracefully on Cas’ face – he would squint his eyes and then close them, and Dean would place a kiss on each before taking his hand to hold it close.

“I want to see you in the sun,” he whispers, noses touching.

“Dean…” Cas withdraws. Blue eyes broken.

If only I could tell him now, Dean thinks and cups his cheek with a gentle hand. Cas leans, no, melts into the touch, brows furrowed in sorrow. But Dean does not manage to gather his courage. “C’mon,” he says instead, sobering down. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“Dean…”

“You still haven’t got your Christmas present yet,” he smiles with an auspicious wink to wiggle his way past Cas’ stubbornness.

Cas frowns. “But you are my Christmas present,” he says. “Every year.”

What should be the cutest thing Dean has ever heard in his life sounds like an elegy when spoken by Castiel; it makes Dean want to cry, but he bites back the sob that built up in his throat. Gently, he lifts Cas’ rough hand and places a warm kiss on his fingers. “C’mon,” he says, softer than before.

This time, Cas goes with him, hand in hand. They walk in silence.

The snow is less heavy on the branches of the fenced trees downtown, and the air grows lighter beneath the pastel sky. They arrive at Dean’s home when the church bells strike seven in the morning. “The sun will rise soon,” Cas says when Dean stops to fish the keys out of his coat. Then he stops in his tracks and his blue eyes blink – “Winchester?” he reads and tilts his head. “Dean, what is this?”

“What does it look like?” Dean asks over his shoulder, a grin on his face so wide it makes his icy cheeks hurt.

Cas squints his eyes. “A… shop, with your family name. It sells food, according to the display window. Baked food, and sweets.”

“A bakery,” Dean says proudly as he opens the door. He shakes the snow off his shoes before stepping inside. “Come on in, my friend,” he says, careful not to wake the neighbors.

“Dean,” Cas says in mild irritation. “Is this…?”

“Mine? Yes, it is,” Dean beams from inside, holding the door impatiently. “C’mon, the cold’ll pour in first if you don’t.”

With skeptic eyes, Cas enters his shop as Dean lights the lamps inside. “Electric,” he brags with a smirk, one that slowly fades away when he looks over his shoulder. Cas is unimpressed with the lamps. He looks around like a misplaced tourist.

A smile only creeps onto his face when he tilts his head at the candy Christmas tree on the counter. “This is your shop? You sell all these?”

“All of these, self-made,” Dean says shakily as he places his stuff on the coat rack. “I make a mean apple pie, you know that. I know that you… that you can’t taste it,” he adds with a tad of remorse lacing his voice. He didn’t mean to say it like that. But now he feels stupid about showing Cas all of this. An angel could never relate.

But Cas just gives him a soft look. “I told you I found it lovely.”

“Yeah, you ate the whole piece,” Dean remembers. He treasured that bittersweet memory deep inside his heart.

This bakery was a dream come true. On the main street, apartment right above it. The mere thought that it could become even _more_ perfect, with Castiel inside it, waking beside him by the light through white curtains…

“What about the family business?” Cas asks out of nowhere. “Your father, he…”

“I’ve broken with my father, Cas,” Dean says in a sturdy voice. “Okay? He has no say in what I do or don’t anymore. I left. I wanted to do something on my own. Sammy knows all about business laws, so I thought I’d have a crack at it.” He shifts. “To make things with my hands, y’know? Not use them for harm anymore?”

“You stood up for yourself,” Cas realizes with a smile.

“You taught me that,” Dean says, stepping closer. “And now I can do what I want.” He holds Cas’ soft gaze for a little while before walking behind the counter. He takes the small box with the golden clasp from the secret drawer below the cash register.

With careful steps, he returns to Cas. Oh boy, he never would have thought his heart would pound so strong…! But when he stands eye to eye with his beloved again, an excited smile still tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Cas,” he says, making the angel straighten up. Brows furrowed – oh, Dean wanted to reach out and smooth that wrinkle from his face. And yet he cannot help but find Castiel beautiful. The sparkling of the bee brooch gives him courage.

He should keep it simple.

“Merry Christmas,” he sighs. Watches Cas take the box with careful hands, open it with a quiet gasp. “A book,” he says.

“Look inside,” Dean says proudly. Takes the box so that Cas can open the small notebook and see what Dean had placed inside. “Flowers?” Cas asks with wondrous eyes gazing right into Dean’s.

“I’ve collected them all year. Pressed them with newspapers. Not that many flowers to see in December after all. Here, I wrote down the name – place I found them – and checked whether the bees liked them, so we could go and… watch them do their thing.”

Not daring to look up, Dean continues speaking even when Cas slowly lets the book sink. “Larkspur, here. This one’s from the mountains. I went there this summer, Colorado, y’know? Very pretty meadows. We should go and visit my uncle there.”

“Dean…”

“And, oh, here – the last pages are empty, so you can go and find some yourself, collect an’ press ‘em if you find them pretty.”

“Dean.” Cas closes the book with rough hands. Clings onto it. Dean looks up to find him shake his head in disbelieve, as though this was all to mock him and his desire to walk the Earth when it wasn’t sleeping beneath the snow. As though _Dean_ would mock him.

The world outside is getting brighter.

Hastily, Dean licks his lips, eyes chasing back to Cas. He panics at the thought of his treasured Castiel, brokenhearted, turning back into an antique right before his eyes. He really had to outright say it, huh? No way around it?

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “I beg of you, listen to me.”

Blue eyes widen with hope. “Yes?”

Dean inhales deeply. Here we go, Winchester. Take heart. “I want you to stay,” he says, shakier than he meant to. “Like this. With me.”

Scarcely when Dean has spoken, Cas lets the book sink. Carefully places it on the counter when he realizes he might drop it in shock. His blue eyes shine, still disbelieving.

“Stay,” Dean says again, turning the box in his hands. “Run this shop with me, or don’t, if you don’t wanna. Just don’t go away. Let us watch the bees together, and fly a kite in fall. I’ll buy you a pair of skates an’ we’ll go ice skating in winter – today, if you want to.” He sighs. “We’ll take the Kodak with us and have someone take our picture, and I’ll put it upstairs, and there we can see it every day.”

Dean knows he’s babbling, but he can’t stop himself. Not when a life with Cas is within arm’s reach, literally. But Dean does not want to reach out and touch him yet, not when he hasn’t heard Cas’ stance yet.

Oh, he wishes his angel would just speak…!

But Cas just tilts his head, shakes it ever so slightly, and the wrinkles in his face look deeper than ever before.

“Say something,” Dean pleads.

Cas looks up. “All these years – in all those years, you never asked me to stay. You always brought me back to the tree. I never would have…” He presses his lips together before adding, barely above a whisper, “No one never asked me to stay.”

“Because they were all stupid. Hell, _I_ was stupid,” Dean says with a helpless smile. Gosh, he’s so in love. “I thought… you’d reject me. I was afraid. After all, why would someone as sublime and faultless want to stay with a sad dog like me? But last year, when you…” He laughs at the memory. “Do you remember what you said to me, last year, before we said goodbye?”

Cas’ gaze falls sideways. “I told you how I saw you,” he remembers. His eyes meet Dean’s again, and now he seems to understand. Blinks. “Dean…”

Dean puts away the box.

“I am so sorry it took me so long,” he utters. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away, year after year after year. I was blind, Cas. _You_ made me realize what really mattered. When you spoke of me like that… it changed me. I started being honest with myself. And I realized that… I would not be able to see you leave a twelfth time,” he sighs. He softens and, shakily, takes a step toward Cas, bowed down with emotion. Arms opening slightly. “I know that I could never bind you, but I… I love you,” he whispers, happily, relieved, ardently like a prayer.

Blue eyes watering, Cas reaches for his extended arms, pulls them closer, and lets his angelic love flow through his touch right to Dean’s heart. It’s warm and sweet like honey, and deep as the sky. A million years old, with nothing holding it back anymore.

He lets Dean cup his face and stroke a thumb over the blush that sits so high on his cheekbones. The lights flicker with when he blissfully presses out his name, again and again.

“Dean… Dean…!”

It’s then when the sunlight falls through the window, the first light of Christmas – and Dean feels shadows wrap around him, giant, feathery, with splashes of color like stained-glass windows. He gasps as an overwhelming feeling of safety sinks into his heart – Castiel’s wings, sphering him.

His awe makes Cas’ face break into a hearty grin, and he squeezes Dean’s shoulders tightly. “They’ll all wonder who stole the tree topper,” he smiles with tears flowing down his face.

“Well, we know that Garth won’t talk,” Dean jokes softly and wipes Cas’ tears away with gentle fingers. Cas leans into his touch with closed eyes.

“Dean, I… I…”

Dean pulls him into a tight hug. Feels Cas grasp his vest like a lifeline, wings shimmering beautifully. And Dean swears he hears the air sing, or at least his own heart, when Cas says, “I will never leave you.”

They sink to their knees, onto the cold floor beneath the small candy Christmas tree. Hands wandering, helplessly in love, and their lips find each other with such ease it makes Dean wonder – is this my Christmas miracle? It was such a marvel they had found each other in the first place, and now they would be able to _be_ together, to be as they wished. Who could ever be this lucky?

Their kisses are like the answer to the question they have both never dared to ask.

When Dean withdraws, breathing heavily, he notices the afterimage of a rainbow-colored halo around Castiel’s dark hair. “You’re gorgeous…”

Cas smiles to the ground with a blush. “Look who’s talking.”

That makes Dean smirk. “So, h-how am I for a Christmas present?” he asks.

It earns him a dab on his head, and another sweet kiss. In fact, there has never been a sweeter Christmas Day for Dean for as long as he can remember. The miserable past feels like a mighty stranger now, cowering before the brightest future.

They laugh and kiss, and then watch the morning sun glisten through the window, making their eyes shine.

“You did this,” Dean says softly. “You helped me grow.”

Cas nuzzles his cheek. “And look what _you_ did,” his warm voice rasps. “You taught an angel to love.”

_I know how you see yourself, Dean. You think you’re destructive and angry, and that you’re broken. You think hate and anger is what drives you. That that’s who you are. It is not. Everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, you have done for love. And that love… gleams from inside you every minute! It shines like a galaxy veering through the night and blossoms so, so beautifully. I wished you could see it yourself, maybe then you would not have doubted yourself all those years. I want it to enchant you like it has enchanted me. I do not know what the thunder of a summer storm sounds like, but it must like your happy laughter. Just as resilient. When your joy and hope dance, they draw the most beautiful patterns – and when I look into your eyes, they promise me peace like nothing else on Earth. It is a privilege to just be near you, Dean. I want you to understand that – to truly understand it._

**Author's Note:**

> Cas, basically: love yourself so we have something in common
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♡ Originally, this would have been my Destiel Secret Santa gift, but I’m writing something non-AU for my giftee instead. I decided to post this anyway haha, it’s not Christmas Eve yet, but I sent out an important job application today and want Christmas!Castiel to be my good luck charm! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ ｡☆:°


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